


A Boy Named Leslie

by This Thing That Rots (MissingOneEye)



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Bruises, Child Abandonment, Childhood Trauma, Choking, Coercion, Creepy, Crying, Doctors & Physicians, Emotional Manipulation, Emotions, Experimentation, Fire, Fucked Up, Healing, Injury, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Manipulation, Marking, Mental Breakdown, Mirrors, Monsters, Murder, Needles, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Problems, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Repressed Memories, Scars, Sexual Coercion, Trauma, Understanding, Unhealthy Relationships, barbed wire, haunted, mansion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:36:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissingOneEye/pseuds/This%20Thing%20That%20Rots
Summary: There is a place for everyone in this world, created for them.Everyone wants something that they can't immediately have.Everyone has goals that need to be accomplished.In the end, some people just try harder than others.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is similar to the game, but there are events in this story that are not cannon. 
> 
> The main ship is Leslie/Ruvik, but Joseph and Sebastian are definitely going to play a part in this.
> 
> Of course, there are so many things you can create to achieve that desired effect. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Sometimes, when it was too quiet, there were snippets of another time playing through his mind like an old film rolling, creaking away on its projector. His thoughts were loud, and disjointed, often leading him down paths he didn’t want to traverse. Leslie Withers was afraid of it, afraid to think. He didn’t know why, but he knew that it made him feel unpleasant. There was something dark that lurked beneath the layers of his mind, and he was terrified of it. Whatever it was wanted to hurt him. 

The grass beneath his feet was soft, a bright green that drew his eye to it. It felt safe. It felt right. He curled his toes slightly, and looked around at the world before him. It was warm, and reminded of something he couldn’t quite place, reminded him of home. A woman walked beside him, but he didn’t acknowledge her. She’d always been there.

“Where are we going, Leslie,” she asked him. 

“Home...home...” 

The woman fell silent, and watched the boy for a moment before looking straight ahead. “Is home safe?”  
“Home…safe.”

The woman nodded, and pursed her lips in thought before nodding again slowly. “Alright, alright.” Juli Kidman wasn’t exactly sure what to do. She knew what she had to do, and what she was ordered to do, but neither of those options seemed right. Neither of them allowed this kid beside her a happy ending. Her hand found the gun that was secured tightly within her holster, but she lowered it almost instantly. 

_It’s not your fault._

“Friend?”

“Huh?” The boy’s sudden words pulled her out of her thoughts, and she glanced at him. He was staring at the ground. He always stared at the ground. She thought that maybe he didn’t like eye contact. 

“You’re a friend,” he asked quietly after a moment. 

“I’m…a friend,” she replied slowly. She hesitated, but Leslie didn’t seem to notice. Anyone else would have, and she’d have dug her hole bigger. 

_I’m sorry._

“Home.” Leslie pointed forward, and Kidman followed his gaze toward a cozy looking home. It reminded her of where she grew up, except for the exact opposite reasons. This little home was nice, and Leslie was right…it felt safe. Her home was prehistoric almost, like something out of a book, and she never felt safe there. Nobody did. 

“…is that your home, Leslie?”

He didn’t reply. He only began to walk toward the small house, painted crudely as though done by the family rather than a professional. It was one floor, with a milk chocolate door, and tan walls to compliment. The fence surrounding it wasn’t new, but it hadn’t had time to rust in the rain yet. The grass had been recently mowed, and the sky up above was a friendly shade of blue. Everything seemed as though it were straight out of a dream, and Kidman almost forgot where she was. Nearby, she could hear children laughing, but there was no one around. 

“Hey, Leslie, hold on.” Her hand went instinctively to her gun, and she could feel her arms tense as she followed the boy. He walked, swaying side to side, toward the house that he believed would offer him comfort. She quickened her pace, and a strong copper odor invaded her nostrils causing her to gag, and cover her nose. 

Leslie slowed to a stop in front of the door, and his brows furrowed. He was swaying in place, and Kidman could see that something was wrong. The windows of the house were dark, and she couldn’t see inside them. The smell that hung in the air was suffocating, and she struggled to breathe as she slowly lowered her arm away from her face. Her other hand rested on her gun. 

“Leslie…?”

She was staring at his back.

_It’s not your fault._

_I’m sorry._

“Leslie?”

“Home…sweet…home…?”

There was blood pooling out from underneath the door. Juli saw it before Leslie did. It coated the skin of his feet, and he was staring down at it with a face that was void of anything other than fear. She took a step forward, to grab him, and the door burst open. 

All she heard was his screaming.

All she tasted was someone else's blood.


	2. A Home, A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he wanted was to go home.
> 
> He didn't expect anything bad to happen.
> 
> He didn't expect this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another reminder that this isn't exactly like the game. Hope you enjoy.

The ground was flat, was stable, and then it wasn't, and Leslie Withers was covering his face as he rolled to a stop. He didn't move for a good, solid minute. It was silent around him. No more woman, no more Kidman. Just silence. Slowly, with a whimper, he uncurled his body, and pushed himself up. The ground was solid beneath his feet, level, and he looked around with a small twitch of his head. There was nothing, but darkness surrounding him. He adjusted his footing, and glanced down at his bare feet. It was too quiet, and it made him feel alone. 

 

"...Friend...? Friend...?" He turned in place, saw nothing, and turned again. There was nothing around him, but trees, and remnants of whatever was there before he was. With another jerk of his head, he chose a direction, and began to walk. Twigs snapped underneath his bloodied feet, and he felt them stab his skin, but he just grumbled quietly, incoherently underneath his breath. He had no idea where he was going. Leslie looked around hesitantly, and frowned.

 

"...Where..." After spinning once more, he froze his movements, and absentmindedly scratched at the skin of his hand. He had seen Home once, but Home was lost again, and because of that, Leslie was inevitably lost too. He lifted his head to see a clearing in the trees, and through it he could see a strange house in the distance, nearly a mile away from where he was. It wasn't his, or at least he didn't remember it belonging to him. He took an apprehensive step forward, and then stopped his actions altogether, swaying and digging nails into his skin. He wasn't sure if going toward the house would get him in trouble, or if he was welcome there. Nothing seemed truly safe, and all he wanted was his family.

 

He could faintly remember them, and he could faintly remember that something horrible happened. Leslie bit at his bottom lip, and mumbled again. "Mama...mama...says come home again...come home, Leslie, come home..."

 

Slowly, but surely, the boy headed forward toward the clearing. Home sweet home. He'd see mama again. He'd be Home, and accepted, and loved. That's all he wanted.

 

* * * *

The house was multiple stories, a behemoth that stood out in the dark that engulfed it. There were lights on in various windows, and the curtains were drawn, probably a dark shade of red by the looks of them. The land that surrounded the home was extensive, and encased behind a wrought iron fence. When Sebastian Castellanos saw it, he instantly thought of talking gargoyles, and lion statues with brass knockers in their mouths. There were stairs leading up to the large front doors, and the detective took them two at a time. His lantern illuminated the path presented before him, and reflected off of marble fixtures. Something about this home seemed off, and it was different than all of the other locations he'd seen. It was eerie, and it seemed alive as though it were inviting you to step inside its clutches, so that it could entangle you in its secrets, and suffocate you.

 

Sebastian frowned, and tried the door. He wasn't surprised when it opened, holding his revolver at the ready. The room he stepped into seemed as though it were straight out of a movie, elegant and lively. The walls were dark shades of brown, mahogany probably, and every color besides that only served to compliment the rest of the scenery. There were decorative ornaments hanging on walls, proudly presenting themselves, and statues that stood off to the side, out of the main walkway. As he stepped further inside, he was greeted by staircases, and the feeling of dread that hung heavily in the air around him. He subconsciously reached up to wipe his nose, as though he could rid himself of the horrible smell that invaded it.

 

Like something died here.

 

Like a family died here.

 

Sebastian's brown eyes landed on a portrait. It was hanging there before him, surrounded by lights that screamed _look at me, look at us, look at how perfect we are, we were._ Looking at it felt wrong, but the man stepped closer regardless. There were four people in the painting; two adult women, a man, and a boy. The younger woman might have been beautiful, but the detective couldn't tell because her face was scratched out of the artwork. Her long black hair was lying against her shoulders, and she wore a dress that made Castellanos think of blood. Just like everything else in the house, the painting was done in dark hues of yellows, reds, greens, and browns. She stood beside the boy, and underneath the two of them were the older figures that must have been parents. The man noticed that all of the faces were more or less damaged, torn open to reveal the canvas beneath layers, and layers of paint. Sebastian lifted his light, and eyed the boy as best he could. Blonde hair, fair skin, young. Something nagged at him, shouting in the back of the man's mind. A frown caressed his lips.

 

_Once upon a time, this might have been someone's home. What happened here?_

 

* * * *

The large oak doors creaked when Leslie pushed them open, and they felt heavy against his arms, causing the muscle to ache as he strained to keep them open. He grunted under his breath, and managed to slide inside before they fell closed behind him with a thunderous sound. He looked around, and his eyes fell on the picture of a family that he didn't recognize. This wasn't his Home, but it was definitely someone else's. He stepped closer, soft mutters escaping his lips as he approached the painting. "Home...Home soon. Come home..."

 

The painting was tall as he stood in front of it, and he tilted his head ever so slightly to look at all of the missing faces. They were all so pale, skin screaming against the shadows that surrounded it. The boy frowned, and reached out to brush his fingers against the artwork. He expected to feel the texture of the paint on the canvas, of the tears in the faces, or of the piece itself, but his hand fell through the older woman's body, and the paint felt like mist against his skin, rippling around his hand, and goosebumps rose along his wrist where the portrait kissed it. After a brief moment of hesitation, Leslie stepped closer to it, and it felt as though water droplets were falling against his body, as though he were walking through a waterfall, and it caused him to shiver as he walked continuously forward. 

 

There were whispers of the things that remained in this house, in this room, and they tugged at the boy's arms, at his legs, and at his clothes, pulling him forward into their seemingly gentle caress. He followed along through the dark, through the images of this family, until he was through it completely.

 

* * * *

Sebastian had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for, and instead, absentmindedly wandered through the first floor of this home. He'd learned that it belong to a family by the name of Victoriano, and that a lot of accidents happened inside of this family. He didn't know what to think, and his legs were killing him. What remained of the family left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he wasn't sure how he felt about Ruben, or Ruvik, or whatever the man called himself, and he honestly didn't care. He'd dealt with about enough for one day, and it felt as though the nightmare was never going to stop. Something froze the man in place. A door, the sound a door that echoed throughout the walls of this otherwise empty home. Someone was here with him, right outside the room he was currently inhabiting. His grip tightened on the butt of his revolver as he approached the entryway to the lounge he was in. He pushed the door open slowly, exiting the room into the main foyer. He found himself near the stairwell, and the detective noticed the strange white hair of that boy he'd seen before. He watched as Leslie started to disappear behind the solid frame of the portrait.

 

"Hey, kid! Wait!"

 

The man quickly reached out for him, his hand barely missing the back of Leslie's shirt, and instead falling to rest against the remnants of Ernesto Victoriano's face. 

 

"What the fuck?"

 

* * * *

There was a floor underneath his feet, a hallway that was lit up by lanterns, and paintings lining the wallpaper.

 

Then, there was nothing. The world seemed to flip on him, like turning a bottle upright after it's tipped over. 

 

Then, Leslie was falling, or he felt like he was falling. He couldn't stop himself, but he didn't really try. 

 

He felt as though hands were pulling at him, tugging him down toward the nothing that rested beneath him. He was falling slowly, as though Time didn't exist, and the walls around him passed him by at a speed that allowed him to look at all of the paintings. 

 

He saw flowers. 

 

He liked flowers. 

 

Flowers reminded him of Home.

 

 


	3. The Monsters In His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The entire brain is active during dreams, from the brain stem to the cortex. Most dreams occur during REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. This is part of the sleep-wake cycle, and it is controlled by the reticular activating system, containing circuits that run from the brain stem, through the thalamus, to the cortex.
> 
> Anyone that experiences REM sleep is capable of dreaming, and more or less does. Those individuals that sleep lightly are often able to recall their dreams better than those that sleep deeply. The random sounds of the world around the individual will most likely play a part in whatever he or she is dreaming, changing their fantasy related adventure into something more annoying, or far more sinister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you that are still reading. It's near the beginning of the story, and I apologize if the pacing seems off. I haven't written anything related to this game until now.

There was nothing behind the portrait except for solid wall, and it felt cold against the palm of Sebastian's hand. He was losing his mind. That was the only explanation that he could think of as he let his hand drop back to his side. He backed away from the wall, and gave it one last glance before turning away from it. "Jesus Christ..."

 

The rest of the rooms on the first floor didn't do him much good, so he headed up the stairs slowly. The pain in his right leg was crawling up his spine, and down his arms. It felt as though his nerves were lighting themselves on fire, but when that thought crossed his mind he quickly shoved it away. Fire was the last thing he wanted to think about, right now, and always.  _The cases where the victims survive are always the worst, the screaming when they see how they've changed. They always already hate themselves before, but then after, oh, the real hatred starts. For themselves, or for others. And, the family, or the friends that weren't in the fire..._

 

_How guilty they feel for not being there to burn as well._

 

The stairs were heavy underneath his feet, and they felt stable, supporting his weight without a single creak. Regardless of that fact, he proceeded cautiously. Nothing in the world around him seemed to be what it seemed. It always changed drastically when he took his eyes away. 

 

_Like that fucking kid going through a solid wall, you mean? What the fuck is this?_

 

A sound snapped the man's head up, and a door shot open quickly. He raised his gun up, but he wasn't fast enough. Gnarled hands grabbed at him, and a rancid body that smelled of sweat, blood, and rot, shoved against his. He lost his footing on the top step, and both he and the vile creature plummeted back down. Every angle of every step dug into Sebastian's body as he tried to grab at something desperately. The world was spinning around him, and he was only mildly aware of the trees that had taken shelter around him. 

 

He was only mildly aware that the stabbing of wooden steps, and the sensation of banisters smacking against skin, was replaced by the feeling of dying grass underneath his body. Sebastian groaned, and let his eyes fall closed as he tried to pull himself together. Everything hurt, and his arm felt as though it might have been broken. He wasn't entire sure, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't will himself to look. 

 

"Sebastian? Sebastian, is that you?" 

 

A voice was calling for him, but he couldn't breathe. He couldn't reply. He coughed up blood, and kept his eyes squeezed closed.

 

_"Seb, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known that was going to happen."_

 

_"I should have been there, Joseph. I should have been there, and I wasn't."_

 

_"You're being too hard on yourself..."_

 

_Stop, please. God, run faster. Hide, dammit, hide._

 

_There's nothing for you out here._

 

_Wake up, Seb. Seb, goddammit._

 

_Doesn't it feel nice? The strange sensation  you feel at the thought of letting go...it feels as though you're finally relaxing, doesn't it? I could give you what you want._

 

_There was a home in the distance. Sebastian recognized it, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He took a few steps forward. There was a swing rocking in the wind, a little girl kicking her legs, a woman smiling down at her. The man ran toward them, his heart pounding inside his chest. They were home. He was home._

_"Sebastian..."_

 

_"Myra! Myra!"_

 

_"Daddy," the little girl called out, her short brown hair blowing in the breeze. He slowed to a stop as he approached them, and there were tears burning the skin of his cheeks._

 

_Burning._

 

_The skin._

 

_His brows furrowed, and he glanced toward the house._

 

_"This...this isn't real," he managed to sob. He realized he was trembling, and he looked at his daughter, at his Lily. "This isn't real, God, no...not again, please...Myra."_

_"What are you talking about, Sebastian? Are you okay? Did you have a rough day at work...?"_

 

_The little girl was hugging him. He was clinging to her, and he couldn't stop sobbing._

 

_Burning._

 

_The smell of burning._

 

_"This isn't real. You're gone. You're both gone."_

_Screaming._

 

_The house burst into flames, and his eyes widened as he watched. He tried to pull Lily closer, tried to pull her as far from the fire as he could. It followed her, like a snake through the grass. He might have been screaming, but he wasn't sure anymore. He had to get her away._

 

_The girl in his hands lit up, and she was melting. SHE WAS MELTING. He couldn't breathe again. He was breathing in fumes that smelled too much like blood. Myra stood close by, and she did nothing. She just watched their daughter melt to the grass, and she looked at Sebastian with tears in her eyes._

 

_"You just couldn't leave well enough alone. You just couldn't be happy. This is your fault."_

 

_Her hands were against his chest, and he was falling through space. There was nothing surrounding him, nothing but black. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't stop himself from falling. He was definitely screaming now._

 

_"Seb!"_

 

_"SEB, WAKE UP!"_

 

Sebastian's eyes opened slowly, and he groaned when light clawed at them from above. A face cut off the light, and shadows veiled the features, but the man already knew who it was.

 

"Joseph..."


	4. The Breathing of An Empty Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It bends, and shapes, molds like clay. The world around him can belong to him, if he reaches out to take it. The world around him feels wrong, but it feels like Home, can bring Home back to him. 
> 
> But, for some reason, he's afraid.
> 
> Is there a Home?
> 
> Is he just alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four! It's an amazement. I'm actually writing!

The hallway seemed to grow longer, seemed to stretch around him like some sort of living creature, and it threatened to constrict him as he fell faster toward the end of it.  _Like something being digested._  The boy squeezed his eyes closed, and braced for the impact that would inevitably come. Any sound that escaped his lips was lost as he tumbled on. When he hit the ground, his bones would break, or he at least thought they would. They'd break, and splinter underneath his flesh, and he'd be unable to move, incapable of running away from the things that wanted to tear him apart in this world. The picture frames on either side of him boasted smiles, and served as a stark reminder of happier times. He wasn't involved in this life, in the life that died here, but under different circumstances, he'd stop to look at the beautiful colors. 

 

When he opened his eyes, he wished he hadn't. There was a door below him, and it was approaching him quickly as he descended toward it at a rapid speed. He flailed his arms uselessly, trying to grab at anything that could stop him from hitting it. He panicked, and he couldn't breathe, the force of falling tightening around his body, and robbing his lungs of air. Instinctively, his hands shot up to shield his face, and he let out a startle scream as wind whipped past his ears. The doorway opened at the last second, right before his body collided with the wood, and he was dropped into a bed seven feet beneath it. His chest slammed against the mattress, knocking the air out of him, and he swallowed down a pained cry as his teeth tore into his tongue. The collision with the bed was brief, and after hitting it, his body bounced off, and onto the carpeted floor the rested underneath. Leslie lied there on his back blinking rapidly, and gasping in mouthfuls of air until he choked. He squeezed his eyes closed, and tried to roll onto his side. 

 

The pain slowly subsided, and the boy glanced around at the room he was now inhabiting. When he looked back up at the ceiling, the door was gone, and he noticed that it now rested within the wall, three feet in front of him. His head was throbbing, and he didn't want to think about what happened. He didn't know where he was, and that was the worst feeling he could have possibly felt. 

 

"...where...?" 

 

He didn't receive an answer, but he didn't need one to know that wherever he was sitting wasn't safe. He struggled to push himself up, and after the second attempt he paused. He could hear something strange coming from behind the door, like a gurgling.

 

He swallowed down a mouthful of bloody spit, and sat very still, watching the door. Slowly, he dragged himself underneath the bed, and let out a pathetic whimper, pink frothy spittle dribbling past his lips, down his chin, and coming to rest on the backs of his hands. He couldn't see much from his hiding place, but he didn't want to move. He didn't shift when his muscles began to scream, and complain about the position he was forcing them into. He held his breath as the gurgling got closer, and closer, and he squeezed his eyes closed because he didn't know what he'd see if he kept looking. 

 

He thought that maybe if he didn't see them, they wouldn't see him, and he'd be safe. 

 

The door to his room was shoved open, and when it slammed into the wood beside it, Leslie jumped. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he opened his eyes to see bloody tatters that used to be pant legs standing in the only entryway to the room, and he saw how the skin of the legs wearing them were torn open in several places, oozing blood out of gashes, and smelling sweet like rot. The person was gurgling, and Oh God, Leslie just wanted it to stop. He was whining now, and he held his hands tightly over his ears. 

 

The legs turned toward the bed, and they were  _walking toward him._

 

They didn't get very far. 

 

The room began to pulsate violently, and Leslie cried out as his head mimicked the motion. His grip on his head tightened, and tears welled up in his eyes as he watched the feet from beneath the bed. The room was breathing, pounding like an irregular heartbeat, and he could hear footsteps that didn't belong to the pair of legs he was looking at. 

 

The legs he watched were uncoordinated, and swayed every which way. The steps he heard approaching were certain, and sure footed. The boy recognized those steps, and he tried to scoot further underneath the bed. There was no way out, and he was terrified as  _those legs_ came into view.

 

The skin of those legs were covered in old scars, old burns, and Leslie didn't know what happened to them, but he didn't want to see them. Those legs meant pain, and his head ached every single time they came near him. They were too close now, and the pulsing sounded too loud inside his ears, a steady  _thump thump thump_ inside his brain, a horrible ringing that spread throughout his skull. 

 

The man that had entered the room prior was rocking back, and forth. Leslie watched him because he didn't want to look at the other person. The skin was decomposing, and some areas were ripped open to reveal bone. Leslie swallowed down something sour that rose up in his throat. There was a popping sound that echoed throughout the room, like a balloon being poked with something sharp. The Haunted fell to the ground, and the boy realized that his head was gone, more blood flowing from him like a little red creek. 

 

Leslie began to scream. 

 

The legs approached him slowly. 

 

He scoot further underneath the bed, away from the bloody stream that was soaking into the carpet, away from the scarred legs of the man he feared, away from the corpse, and away from this world. 

 

The boy couldn't form words. His screaming only got louder as he felt something grab his ankle, and drag him back, out from underneath the bed. 

 

"Away...! Away!" 

 

The pulsating was growing to be too much, and he felt lightheaded. A burned wrist was what he saw first, and then a face was staring at him. Leslie felt tired. He didn't want to fight anymore, but he had to. He needed to get away from him.

 

"You are a long way from home."

 

Leslie's eyes were watering, and the man's face blurred briefly before coming back into focus. A scarred hand reached forward, and fingers gripped his chin, centering his head. Leslie blinked tears out of his eyes. 

 

"A quivering little rabbit."

 

"...go..." 

 

"You belong to me," the man muttered. His voice was like a deep rumble that resonated in Leslie's chest, and the boy let out a soft whimper. He couldn't move. Something about the man drew him in, but it was sickening, and he felt nothing but fear.

 

"Please...please...mama..."

 

"Is this where you've run off to? This room, hiding underneath this bed?"

 

"...no, no...no bed...no..."

 

"It's not safe here, not for you. You will never be safe, unless you come to me. I can protect you." 

 

It felt cold at first, like being dumped into a bathtub, or being baptized. Then, it felt warmer. Starting at the tips of his toes, and spreading. Leslie felt like he was on fire, and he let out a shaky sob as Ruvik held him close. He tried to push the man away, tried to free himself, but he couldn't, and he felt ill. 

 

"Come to me."

 

"Leslie...Leslie come...?"

 

The pulsing stopped, and time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Ruvik held Leslie's chin with his hand, and he tilted his face upward. The boy's eyes met the man's, and the man just held him for a moment. 

 

Then, Leslie was alone in the forest he'd been in before he'd found the house. He trembled, and looked around before bowing his head, and walking in a random direction. 

 

He wanted to go Home, and meet Mama again. 


	5. This Sick, Dying Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph Oda managed to find his partner, and he managed to find the strange Albino kid that loves to wonder around with his head bowed. 
> 
> Now that he has them though, the trick is to keep them in sight, lest something bad happen to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five. Whoooo!  
> Somehow we ended up here.

Joseph Oda pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, and he sighed quietly underneath his breath as he rested his back against the bark of a tree. He could feel the rough textures pressing into his skin beneath the layers of clothing he wore. He watched his partner with mild interest, watching as the man adjusted himself, and then he peeled his eyes away. 

 

"Where the hell are we now," Sebastian questioned irritably, and ran a hand through his hair with his left hand. When Joseph glanced back at him, his eyes landed on the man's wedding band, and he frowned briefly. 

 

"I'm...not exactly sure, Sebastian."

 

"How long have you been-," the brunette started to ask, turned to look at his partner when a sudden noise drew his attention away. He held his revolver at the ready, his grip like iron around the butt of it, and his finger resting against the hammer to provide a quick shot if needed. 

 

_"Friend..."_

 

"Oh, shit, it's that damned kid."

 

"Damned kid, Seb?" Joseph was on his feet quickly, and he mimicked his partner's stance. His pistol's weight was reassuring in his hand, and he looked around at the darkness that encased them. "What kid?"

***

Leslie couldn't see where he was going, and everything looked more or less the same. A few times, he got turned around, and had to stop to assess his surroundings. The trees that surrounded him were like bars to a cage, and they towered above him like giants. He looked up toward the sky, but he couldn't see anything other than leaves. They looked black in the darkness, occasionally glowing in the splinters of moonlight that managed to leak through. 

 

_You can find your way Home if you follow the North Star. It's the big, bright one, and you can't miss it._

 

The boy let out a whimper, and it felt unusual in his throat. He swallowed down the taste of blood, and spit, and his tongue felt raw. It throbbed when he pressed it against his teeth, the pain synchronizing with his heartbeat, so he continued to do it. He licked over the cracks between teeth, where the enamel of one met the enamel of another. 

 

"No...no stars...no...go North, Leslie...go North..."

 

"Hey, kid, wait!" 

 

The voice sounded familiar, safe maybe, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He stopped moving, and he rocked slightly on his feet. He didn't look up to see who was approaching him, but he could hear their heavy steps in the grass. They were less confident than the bad man's, and to Leslie, they sounded less dangerous as well. There was another pair of steps as well, but Leslie didn't recognize them. They were steady, but light. Hearing them made his ears tingle. He knew the first pair belonged to the detective.

 

"Dammit, kid, what the hell are you doing," the man asked as he approached the boy. 

 

"Sebastian, who is this kid," an unfamiliar voice questioned, and Leslie risked a glance. It was a man, with black hair, and equally dark eyes.

 

He looked like a friend. 

***

"Seb...?"

 

"It's a long story, Joseph. Where the hell is your doctor at," Sebastian asked, turning his attention from his partner to the boy, and Leslie shrugged his shoulders minutely. It was a brief action, but Joseph noted it, and Sebastian didn't seem to notice. Or he didn't care.

 

"No doctors...no...no more..."

 

"No more doctors? Jesus, Sebastian, what happened to him?"

 

"I don't know. I don't know anything about him, other than his name. It's Leslie...Leslie something or other. I swear I saw his doctor a little while ago, but...I haven't seen him since." Sebastian's brows furrowed, and he was biting the inside of his lip. It was a bad habit that the man did often when he didn't have a drink, or a pack of cigarettes to smoke. A nervous twitch, or quirk, Joseph assumed. 

 

_I don't think he knows that he's doing it. I mean, he must not. He does a lot of things he doesn't realize._

Oda adjusted his glasses, and he took a closer look at the trembling boy. He could smell the stench of blood, and decay hanging over his head. The Albino had old scratches coating his cheeks, and bags rested underneath his eyes from the lack of sleep. Joseph also took note of the pinkish tinge that caressed the boy's skin, giving him the appearance of some sick, dying thing. It took the man a second to notice that there were similar scratches on the boy's hands, and on his feet, and he couldn't suppress his frown.

 

There was drying blood clinging to the boy's pants, and his chin. 

 

_Jesus Christ, whatever happened to this kid must have shocked him. He doesn't look very old. What is he doing here?_

 

"Sebastian, I think he might be in shock," Joseph whispered to his partner before glancing back toward the Albino. 

 

_He looks ill, and he seems to be afraid of doctors. What did they do to him?_

 

"Hello, I'm Detective Joseph Oda. I'm Detective Castellanos' partner. Do you know him?"

 

Joseph watched the boy for a moment, watched him hesitate, and then the boy nodded his head quickly. 

 

"Well, we're here to help you, is that okay?"

 

"...friends...?"

 

_He just wants friends...ah, I see._

 

"Yes, friends. You wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?"

 

"Home...North Star...no stars..."

 

"Yes, that would be a small problem, wouldn't it? We should try to find a way out of this forest, does that sound like a good idea," Joseph asked, his voice calm and slow. He'd calmed down victims in the past, and this boy didn't seem much different.

***

The Albino felt safe with this man, and he nodded slowly after his suggestion. Leaving the forest would mean stars, which would guide him home.

 

He bowed his head, and he did what he always did.

 

He chose a direction, and he began to walk.

 

He could hear the footsteps of the men following behind him.

 

Softly.

 

Gently.

 

Different than the steps of the one from before.


End file.
